Free A Ship Made of Paper by Scott Spencer

the best thing would be to remain silent, he has re-cited to himself his own domestic Miranda rights, but he cannot resist saying, “I haven’t gone insane, Kate, if that’s what you’re implying.”
    “I know you haven’t, and I don’t think you will. I really feel as if I’ve found a kindred spirit in you. And this isn’t intuition, or some mystical crapola about our being cosmic twins, or that it was written in the stars, because, let’s face it, that’s not how life is, life’s a bunch of accidents, senseless. We improvise, we keep it together. But with you, it’s more. It feels nice. And that’s why if I were a betting woman, I’d put my money on us. I think we’ll always be together.”
    He’s silent. Surely she doesn’t expect him to comment on this.
    “We may have our hard times,” Kate says, “and we may have to take breaks from each other, maybe long breaks. But I don’t think we’ll ever be free of each other. And not because we’re the most romantic couple in the world, or anything like that. It’s a mysterious connection, a fucking mystery . . .” She laughs. “Or a not-fucking mystery, or maybe a fucking-once-in-a-while mystery. Who knows? But I was sure of it from the first time I met you, I just never told you.”
    She’s silent and Daniel realizes he must say something. “Really?”
    “Yes. I thought to myself, I’m never going to get away from this guy.”
    “Did you want to?”
    “And then I thought, And he’s never going to get away from me.” She rolls away from him but then slides over, pressing her hindquarters against his hip. “And I feel even stronger about it now. I just feel so grateful. I’ve got you, and Ruby, and my talent, and what’s left of my looks.”
    She presses herself harder against him. “I know what you’re thinking.
    She’s drunk, she’s drunk. Once again. But I’m not. I was, maybe. Back at the restaurant, with those terrible people. But I’m sober now, and meaning every word. I couldn’t get drunk if I tried.”
    “Have you been trying?” Daniel asks.
    He regrets saying it. It sounds so put-upon, so long-suffering. But the words are out, there’s no way to take them back. He waits for her reply, already devising how he will defend himself. But the plans aren’t a s h i p m a d e o f pa p e r
    necessary. He has not hurt her feelings, he has not irritated her. She is breathing deeply, and a few moments later her breaths deepen with a little aural fringe of snore.
    Outside, an owl screeches in triumph. From farther away comes the manic whoop of coyotes. The colder it gets outside the more the creatures of the night seem to celebrate their catches, the triumph of having survived another season. The world belongs to those who can satisfy their hunger. The rest are food. Even the stars in the sky shine out the story of their own survival.
    [ 3 ]
    They had no idea where they were going.They walked.The crunch of their footsteps.The cries of invisible birds. Daniel cupped his hands around his mouth and called Marie’s name, silencing the birds.The noise of their footsteps on the brittle layer of dried leaves that covered the forest floor was like a saw going tirelessly back and forth.
    They walked up a hill, zigzagging around fallen trees and swirls of bramble.
    Daniel walked in front. He looked over his shoulder. Hampton was having a hard time keeping his balance.
    “I’m ruining these shoes,” Hampton said. He leaned against a partially fallen cherry tree and looked at the sole of his English cordovan.The leather was shiny, rosy and moist, like a human tongue.
    The next morning, Daniel takes Ruby with him to a new bakery in the village, where he plies her with chocolate croissants and chocolate milk. Daniel recalls Iris having mentioned this place—chrome and glass, with a sort of 1940s feel, overpriced, but with comfortable, long-legged chairs lined up facing the huge window overlooking Broadway—
    and he sits there with Ruby,